Mutatis Fortuna
by justplainrii
Summary: Neville Longbottom never expected that, in his first year at Hogwarts, he'd end up sorted into Slytherin, best friends with Draco Malfoy, and enemies with Harry Potter.  Then again, he was the Boy Who Lived.  Life tended to throw unexpected things at him.
1. The Boy Who Survived

Author's Note

I know this concept's been beaten to death with a Smelting Stick, but I'm going to have some fun with it, and see how well I can pull it off.

Read and enjoy!

-///-

Sirius Black Apparated with a loud crack on the front step of a home in Godric's Hollow, and cursed soon afterwards, finding that he had stubbed his toe after taking a step forward.

His muffled outburst went unnoticed by the residents of the home he had just appeared in front of, which he realized was the incorrect one, of all things. Somewhat sullenly, and muttering something about getting too excited, he tugged on his jacket and readjusted it before walking, nearly running, to a house that was but a few lots over.

Of course he was too excited to Apparate in the right place, he thought, and it was a wonder he didn't get splinched at all. He was the bearer of important news, that was both terrible and wonderful all at the same time. And the first person he was going to tell, of course, was James.

Not that he had a choice in the matter, either way. Dumbledore had told him to alert James first about what had happened, for some reason or another, because it was very urgent indeed. Why exactly James needed to know so badly, Sirius had no idea. But he didn't mind at all; regardless of whether or not Dumbledore said so, James would have learned through Sirius anyways.

Finally arriving at the house (the_ correct_ one, this time)Sirius pushed aside the gate with a squeak and knocked on the door, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as he heard a somewhat malcontented groan and footsteps. The door opened, and James Potter stood before him, his face shifting quickly from disgruntled curiosity to delight.

"Padfoot!" he said, his smile wide. "What in God's name are you doing here? I thought you were back at home."

"Got news. _Lots_ of news," he replied, still bouncing a little. "Mind letting me in? It's a bit chilly out."

"Oh yeah, come on in," said James, and closed the door behind his friend as Lily sat down on the couch with Harry on her lap. "Real cold out there, tonight."

"I'll say," Sirius replied.

"Sirius! What's going on?" Lily asked, as Sirius shed his jacket, haphazardly tossed it on the carpet, and sat unceremoniously down on a free armchair. "I thought you were at home."

He sighed and knit his fingers together, which twitched slightly as he bent over. "Something's happened," he replied. "Dumbledore caught me in the bathroom and told me I had to come and tell you right away, it was so urgent."

"Merlin's beard," said James, "that important?" Sirius nodded, and Lily set Harry on the carpet as her husband joined her in sitting on the couch. "Well, go on, tell us. What's happened? Is it serious?"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom are dead," Sirius said, and Lily gasped slightly, her hands cupping around her nose and mouth in shock. James' mouth dropped slightly open.

"No... Alice? Frank? Not them!" she said, but Sirius nodded slowly, sadly.

"They were found just a few hours ago," he said. "House blown half-apart."

James glowered. "Who in the world did it?" he said. "Whoever it was, they'd have to be powerful. Very powerful; Frank's not the type to go down without a fight, I mean—"

"You-Know-Who did it," Sirius said darkly, and this time James gasped along with his wife. Harry sat, oblivious, wondering why things had gotten so quiet all of a sudden.

"That... that can't be," said James.

"It's what Dumbledore said," Sirius replied. "Killing Curse, he said, without a mark on them. And that means either Death Eaters or—"

"The mean old bastard himself," James said flatly, his eyebrows set in a low, furious line.

Lily gasped as she seemed to realize something. "Oh God," she said, "what about their baby? Neville, isn't it? Is he okay?" She seemed very near to tears at this point.

"That's where the interesting part comes in," said Sirius, and his mood lifted just a little. "It seems little Neville's just fine."

"Oh, thank God," Lily breathed, before realizing just what that implied. "Wait a— how is that possible?"

"Either You-Know-Who's begun showing mercy to children now, which I _highly_ doubt," James said, giving a weak sarcastic laugh after the statement, "or something very strange is going on."

"Definitely something strange," Sirius said, smiling slightly, "because while the boy is just fine, it seems that You-Know-Who has up and disappeared off the face of the earth."

"You're _joking_," James said, and scowled. "Padfoot, seriously, this is no time for stuff like that." Sirius shook his head resolutely.

"I didn't believe him at first, either," he said. "But he went on, and Dumbledore isn't one to lie; we both know that. The Death Eaters are all having kittens over it, I hear."

"Well, that's hardly to be expected, isn't it?" Lily said, attempting to sound brighter, but her voice choked by tears. She picked Harry up off the floor and held him tightly in her lap, as if she were afraid he might somehow float away, never to return. "If he really has..." She sniffed a little. "...disappeared."

"So where's he gone?" James said, and Sirius shrugged.

"Nobody rightly knows how, or why, but Dumbledore reckons it's got something to do with the kid," he said, and looked at his feet. "I'm not really sure if I heard him right about it, but I think that he somehow _survived_ a _Killing Curse_."

"Who? Neville or You-Know-Who?" James said, in a tone that might have been jesting in a past life.

"The baby," said Sirius, and shrugged again at James' look of disbelief. "I know, I can't believe it either! Dumbledore says that it's got something to do with You-Know-Who up and vanishing, though."

"How could something like surviving a _Killing Curse_ have anything to do with the bastard disappearing?" James said, somewhat hotly. "How's that even possible, anyways?"

"Still trying to figure that out," Sirius said. "Either way, Frank and Alice are dead, and Dumbledore's getting someone to take care of the baby, and he told me to watch out for you for a few days."

"Watch us?" said Lily, and held Harry a little tighter. Harry fussed, not exactly liking his stomach constricted by his mother's arms. "Do you... do you think that they'll be actually... actually..."

"It's just safety," Sirius said, attempting to sound reassuring and failing on a minor scale. "If anything were to happen in the next few days, I'd think that it's better to stick together. So... I suppose I'll have to stay here on the sofa for the night, in case something happens. Er, hope you don't mind."

He smiled nervously, and James found himself involuntarily and weakly smiling back, and felt awful for it, as it was decidedly not the time.

"N-no, I'll have to get blankets for you," he said, and began to leave the room.

"James, please... get your wand," Lily implored as he went on his way, "and get mine too."

James nodded and returned from the bedroom with their wands and a large blanket folded under an arm; he handed Lily her wand, who took it despite still having Harry firmly in her embrace.

"Don't think I'll be sleeping much, tonight," Sirius said gruffly, and stared at his boots again. "Don't feel much like it, but you two should get some rest. I should be able to keep watch."

"Sirius, honestly, you should—" James began, but Sirius looked at him with another weak smile.

"I'm supposed to be playing guard dog, James," he said, and a laugh somehow escaped from his throat. "I'll patrol and everything. You get Harry to bed; he shouldn't be kept up by all this."

He smiled fondly at his godson, as Lily stood with him still in her arms, her face creased by worry.

"Don't _worry_," Sirius continued. "Off with you both. We can worry all we want in the morning."

Lily nodded, and walked upstairs, softly murmuring something that resembled, "Alice and Frank... why them? Oh, why them...?"

"You really think You-Know-Who's gone?" James asked Sirius, his voice unnecessarily low, once Lily was upstairs and tucking their son in. Again, Sirius shrugged.

"If it's in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, I think there'll be reasonable doubt," he said. "I believe Dumbledore's right, though, strange as the circumstances may be. I mean... dragon's balls, James, he caught me on the damn toilet to tell me."

James nodded, resisting the urge to chuckle. "Right. Damn, Sirius, Alice and Frank? I'd have never thought they'd—"

"Die like that? Nobody ever thinks like that," Sirius said, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. "You'd best be getting some sleep, James. If anything happens, I'll come get you before you can so much as get another snore in."

"I do _not_ snore," James said, smiling despite himself as Sirius grinned and turned into a dog, his wand clenched between his yellow-ivory teeth. He jumped on the couch and made a sort of dog-grin, before resting his head between his paws and eying the door.

Taking this as a cue to get going, James joined his wife upstairs, and had many fitful dreams that he very quickly forgot, before the sun was to rise.

-///-

The Ministry of Magic was having a field day, on the day after Halloween.

"HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED VANQUISHED," the _Daily Prophet_ screamed early the next morning, in black letters that filled nearly the entire page, with no room for any sort of picture. "WIZARDS WORLDWIDE REJOICE."

And people certainly were rejoicing, Minerva McGonagall noted sourly, from what she had heard and was seeing.

The Ministry had instantly declared a temporary holiday, and practically every sort of business and establishment was temporarily shut down in celebration of the miraculous event. Classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were no exception to this.

The students of Hogwarts had received the news, along with practically all the rest of the wizarding world, through the _Prophet_, and reacted very noisily. The Great Hall was buzzing with activity as the older students pored over the newspaper, and the younger ones simply discussed amongst themselves how such a treacherous being like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could finally be gone.

All of them greatly appreciated the newfound lack of classes. Even the teachers found themselves a little jittery from both sorts of news.

Every teacher, that is, except Binns, who was dead, and Dumbledore, who was very much absent.

Dumbledore seemed to be one of the first aware of the news, and McGonagall wasn't surprised at all. She half-expected him to be gone, even, but Albus wasn't a man to miss breakfast easily, and his absence at the Great Hall was slightly unnerving.

She wouldn't know what he was off doing for a while, she assumed, moodily stirring her porridge as the din continued onward at breakfast. Flitwick nudged her on the shoulder with his wand, and extended his glass of cider towards her.

"Toast, Minerva?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No, thank you," she said, "but I appreciate the gesture."

"Right!" Flitwick said, in far brighter a tone than usual, and drained the glass with extreme relish. McGonagall sighed.

A large, tawny school owl came soaring in amidst the innumerable other owls carrying letters from home for the students and neatly landed in front of McGonagall, sticking out its leg for her. Unruffled, McGonagall released the parchment tied to its leg, and the owl flew off.

Inside was written this:

_Minerva, _

_Arrange to meet me at Augusta Longbottom's house as quickly as you can._

_There is not much time to waste. Come disguised, if you feel the need._

_Albus_

A lump rose in her throat as she re-read the parchment. Apart from the initial news, McGonagall had heard troubling things about the Longbottoms—rest their souls if they really_ were _dead,as the rumors stated—and how they might be involved somehow. Others had heard, as well, but the names of the Longbottoms and their supposed fates were whispered as rumors and theories in streets and hallways.

Neatly re-rolling the parchment, she stood and quietly whispered into the ear of Madame Hooch, who was merrily toasting with Professor Sprout, and asked to borrow a broom.

-///-

Albus Dumbledore sat in Augusta Longbottom's parlor later that afternoon, sipping a cup of chamomile tea that she had prepared with shaking hands, and watching some of her more reckless neighbors shooting off fireworks in the distance.

"Really, those nitwits," she said, pouring herself a cup but not bothering to do anything else with it. "I can understand how... how _excited_ they are, now that You-Know-Who is gone, but do they not _realize_ that the_ Death Eaters _are still around?"

"Euphoria can be more effective than the strongest memory-altering charm, Augusta," Dumbledore said with the slightest of smiles. "The Ministry is already dispatching Aurors to find the remainder of the Death Eaters and place them in Azkaban, before they can do any more harm."

"Heavens," Augusta said, and idly began adding lumps of sugar to her tea. "Well that's a comforting thought, isn't it?"

"That, and the fact that little Neville is very much safe," said Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes wandering to kindly gaze on where the round-faced one-year-old was asleep, oblivious, on one of his grandmother's plush couches. "Him, and the Potters as well. I received an owl from Sirius just this morning and he says they've been left alone."

"Oh, those Potters," Augusta said absently, her fingers grasping another sugar cube. "Nice people, yes, but whyever would the be in danger?"

"Voldemort doesn't exactly look kindly upon them, Augusta," said Dumbledore, and she plopped another cube into her tea, with a slight peep. "The rest of the Order is on top alert as well."

"Right, right," said Augusta. "Right."

"Augusta, your tea," Dumbledore said gently, and Augusta gasped little in embarrassment to find a small pile of sugar cubes jutting over the rim of her cup.

She turned red. "Oh! What in the world am I coming to..." she murmured, and pushed the cup away, holding her forehead in her hands. Wisps of her gray hair fell out of her bun and over her fingers. "I'm so sorry, Albus, pardon me..."

"Augusta, there is nothing to be sorry for," he said, and stood to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Your son died nobly, do not be ashamed to grieve for him."

The woman began crying a little, and Dumbledore produced a handkerchief from his wand and gave it to her. Neville fussed a little in his sleep.

A small, dark spot that was moving over the sky began to get larger as Augusta calmed down a little, and very quickly turned into Minerva McGonagall, who dismounted from her broom and adjusted the green tartan scarf around her neck.

Ringing the doorbell, Augusta very quickly composed herself and sat primly with her hands in her lap. Neville stirred again, as Dumbledore said, "That'll be Minerva. Let her in, if you please."

"Do come in," Augusta said, her voice wavering from the last of her tears, and McGonagall stepped in, glancing somewhat disapprovingly at the child on the couch.

"I came as fast as I could, Dumbledore," she said, her voice neat and free of anything but sternness. "Hello, Augusta." Augusta nodded in recognition. "Do tell me, what's the matter?"

"Have a seat, Professor," Dumbledore said, "but do mind little Neville. I doubt he'd like being sat upon."

"Neville? As in... Frank and Alices's—" she said, and gasped, fearing for the worst. Her stern facade very quickly faded.

"Their son, yes, and an orphan as of yesterday night," said Dumbledore calmly. "Have a seat, Professor."

Biting her lip, McGonagall gently nudged the child to a further end of a sofa (Neville had already fallen back asleep). "It's true, then, isn't it? That they're..." she said, her voice quiet, and bit her lip again after Dumbledore slowly nodded. "Oh, Albus, that's... how could this have happened? Frank and Alice, of all people?"

Augusta gave a rather loud sniff. "There's nothing we could have done," Dumbledore said. "We must, however, be grateful for the young boy sleeping beside you, my dear Professor."

"Oh, the poor— then... then, is it true that he survived a Killing Curse, Dumbledore?" she asked, and glanced at the child. Nothing seemed to be different or odd about him...

"It is," Dumbledore replied.

"How in the... how is that possible?" said McGonagall, her face tight and shocked. "There's nothing that's been shown to nullify a Killing Curse, Albus, so how can this _child_—"

"There are many mysteries in this world, my dear Professor," Dumbledore said calmly, "and, sadly, this is one of them. We may never know."

McGonagall, feeling just a little too overwhelmed for her own good, found tears leaking from her eyes. Augusta, and not Dumbledore, was the one to offer her a handkerchief this time.

"While the reason Neville has survived is indeed a perplexing mystery," Dumbledore continued, as McGonagall dabbed at her eyes, "the most pressing issue is that of who shall care for him now. Augusta?" The woman looked up, looking particularly drained. "I believe we have already discussed this, prior to Minerva's arrival."

"You are going to raise him?" McGonagall said, and Augusta nodded slowly.

"I am," she replied. A barely noticeable note of strength appeared in her voice.

"Neville must be in the care of his family," Dumbledore said, as Augusta reached across McGonagall's lap for the boy. Hesitantly, as if he were made of glass and tinsel, McGonagall shifted the baby from one side of the couch to his grandmother's arms. "It's what his father would have wanted."

"Yes, indeed," Augusta said softly. Neville curled into her arms, attempting to find warmth from her bony limbs. "My God... it's just so amazing, how much he looks like his mother..."

There was a loud crack.

"Dumbledore!" A gravelly voice burst from the front door as a figure stomped in, accompanied by the thump of a heavy cane. "Dumbledore, I knew you'd be here."

"Alastor, what is it?" Dumbledore asked, barely fazed by the man's rather loud entry. McGonagall and Augusta, on the other hand, had quite noticeably jumped up a small amount, the professor's hand near her heart.

"Oh, pardon me for intrudin', Missus," Mad-Eye Moody said, nodding curtly in Augusta's direction. Neville was fussing. "Didn't mean t'wake the little chap."

"N-not at all," Augusta replied, positively frazzled.

"Dumbledore, I got excellent news," Moody continued. "We caught the Lestranges."

"What?" Augusta and McGonagall said. Dumbledore smiled widely.

"Found 'em trying to storm the Potters house just after lunch, wanting to do God knows what," Moody replied. "Didn't quite expect Sirius there, though! Heh." He gave a rakish grin of his own, his magical eye spinning about somewhat merrily. "James and Sirius made quick work of the two; had 'em stunned and ready for the Aurors to pick 'em up within ten minutes. Lily sent an owl to us right away, bless her soul."

"Fantastic news, Alastor," Dumbledore said. Light twinkled in his eyes and glasses.

"Had no idea how they got in, though," Moody continued. "No doubt that'll keep us busy for a while, tryin' to figure that out! Not that we aren't busy enough."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "They had a very powerful charm on that house, indeed." He sat, nodding, for a moment. "Thank you for coming in to tell me, although you could have been a mite quieter."

"Do forgive me, Professor," Moody replied, smiling just a little. "Well, I'd best be on my way."

"Care for a sweet, before you go?" Dumbledore asked. "I brought a package of lemon drops with me; I'm terribly fond of them."

"Sounds like nothin' I'd enjoy eating," Moody said grimly. "Got any Cockroach Clusters, though?"

"Sadly, I have none," Dumbledore replied.

"Ah, pity," Moody said. His electric blue eye came to rest on Neville, who had barely woken and was observing the visitors to the house, his face wrinkled. "Might as well wish some luck to the kid, then. What's this, here? Now that's _quite_ a nice-looking scar." He leaned over, Augusta's shoulders rising a little in discomfort from his nearness).

His thick, rough fingers brushed away some of Neville's hair to reveal a V-shaped cut, just above his right eye.

"The only harm done to him, because of his encounter with Voldemort," Dumbledore said. McGonagall and Augusta winced; Moody and Neville did nothing. McGonagall eyed the scar, now that Moody had pointed it out.

"Is that really the only thing that Killing Curse did?" she asked. Moody traced the thing with his finger, and Neville batted it away with his tiny hand.

"As far as I can tell, yes," Dumbledore replied. "He'll have that scar for the rest of his life, I can wager."

"Lucky kid, I tell you," Moody said, shaking his head a little. "Lucky kid. Hey, look up here!" He smiled as he wiggled his fingers at Neville, and pointed to his eye, which began to spin about inside its socket. Neville began to cry; Augusta glared.

"An excellent attempt, Alastor, but I'm afraid that young Neville doesn't appreciate your brand of humor," Dumbledore said warmly, smiling.

Moody sniffed and thumped his cane on the ground for good measure. "Well, then. I shall be leaving. Take care, all of you. Long live the Order."

"Long live the Order," Dumbledore replied, and Moody was gone.

"...Albus, why exactly did you call me here?" McGonagall asked, and Dumbledore chuckled. She pursed her lips, finding it a bit of an inappropriate time for laughter. Augusta was trying to calm Neville down.

"My dear Professor, if there is anything I know about you, it is that you never like hearing _anything,_" he said, "where you cannot easily separate the truth from the lies. The fate of Frank and Alice Longbottom was quite simply gnawing at you this morning, wasn't it?"

McGonagall flushed, and Dumbledore chuckled again. Augusta shushed them out of instinct, before shying back with a quick, "Forgive me," and returned to rocking Neville.

"You, of all people, deserve the truth as soon as possible," Dumbledore continued. "No doubt the _Prophet _will be reporting it all day tomorrow, but you'd want to hear of it at a quieter time; and from a less sensational source, no doubt."

"Oh, all those nagging press-hounds," Augusta said disapprovingly, stroking Neville's head. "I'll never get a moment's rest."

"I'll try to help all I can, Augusta," said Dumbledore. "For now, care for Neville and lay low. Professor, if you wish, you may return to Hogwarts."

"Indeed," McGonagall said weakly. She stood. "Goodbye, Augusta, and good luck."

Augusta nodded, and McGonagall stepped outside, onto the lawn, onto her broom, and flew out of sight.

"Where are you going to go?" Augusta asked, after a while. The room was nearly silent as Neville fell back into sleep.

"I have a few matters to attend to," said Dumbledore, and began to search in his robe for something. "Afterwards, Hogwarts."

"I still can't quite believe this is happening," Augusta said. "I won't get a moment's rest, when the word gets out of... of what happened."

"All peace comes at an expense," Dumbledore said, finding what he was looking for. He proceeded to dig into a small, white paper bag. "I'll place some minor charms on your home, if it would help for a while."

"Oh, _would_ you?" Augusta said. She seemed much older than she looked, her face somewhat helpless as possibilities began to arise in her mind. The _last_ thing she wanted was tramps from the tabloids snooping around her house.

Dumbledore held up a small yellow sweet, almost in triumph. "My dear Augusta, I promised you I would do all I could," he said. "All you must do is care for Neville."

She stroked his hair, almost fondly, almost as if by compulsion. Her fingers lightly brushed the V-shaped mark, still red and fresh. "Yes, yes," she said softly. Dumbledore popped the sweet in his mouth and stood.

"Good luck, Augusta," he said, and bent down to whisper close into Neville's ear. His silver beard brushed the boy's face. "And good luck to you, Neville."

He left the house, paused in front of it for a moment as he cast a series of spells to help Augusta keep most of her privacy in the coming days, and Apparated away.

Across the world, news was already getting out that the sole survivor of The Dark Lord's final attack was the orphaned child of Frank and Alice Longbottom, two British Aurors that died at his hand, trying to protect their son.

The _Daily Prophet_ ran the story, officially, the next morning.

Wizards and witches everywhere lost their sense of self, almost collectively, wandering in plain view of Muggles in suburbs and cities everywhere, as they went to visit friends and family and spread the glorious news.

Several Muggles noticed, Vernon Dursley included. But as he went along his way, his nights were very much unbothered, as were his mornings, and the mornings after that, and every morning afterward for several years.

In a home somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole, in Godric's Hollow, and in several other homes across the world, a toast was being made.

"To Neville Longbottom," they would say, "the boy who survived!"

Neville Longbottom simply squirmed in his grandmother's arms, his eyes tightly closed.

"Mum..." he said.

Augusta began to softly cry.


	2. Letters, Robes, and Wands

"Neville! Neville, come quick!"

Neville groaned from somewhere in the garden, where he was watching a slug make its way across a stone. "What is it, Gran?" he said.

"Come quickly, boy!" Augusta replied. "It's wonderful news!"

Neville groaned again—if it was wonderful news, according to his grandmother, then he probably wasn't going to like it. He brushed the dirt off his shorts and went inside.

"What _is_ it, Gran?" he said again. His grandmother, standing in the kitchen in her apron, thrust a letter in his direction as he entered. The address on it was written in emerald green ink, and his stomach instantly sank.

"It's your school letter!" she trilled, sounding happier than she had been on the day her brother Algie had dropped Neville out the window. "Oh, I've been _waiting_ for this!"

"I know what it is, Gran," Neville said sullenly, feeling almost as unhappy as he had been the day his great-uncle Algie had dropped him out the window.

"Neville, I'll have none of that attitude," she snapped, putting her hands on her narrow hips, letter still clenched tight. "This is a wonderful thing."

"Of course it is, Gran," Neville said flatly. Augusta gave him a quick smack on the shoulder, and he stared at his dusty shoes.

"Stop that right _now_, Neville Franklin Longbottom. You should be happy," she said.

"I know," Neville said softly.

"Let's see some smiles," Augusta continued. "Come on, now, there's a good lad." She began to open the letter, and skimmed over the list of supplies with a thin smile. "Oh, we're going to have to make a visit to Diagon Alley on Sunday, I think, to get your things."

Neville clenched his fist, frowning, before dashing away from his grandmother and up the stairs.

"And where are _you_ going?" she asked, noticing immediately.

"To my room," Neville replied. "I'm going to tell Trevor the news."

"There's a good lad," Augusta said again, and Neville slammed the door shut.

He sank to the floor and held his knees, leaning against the door and feeling very much helpless. Things couldn't possibly have gotten worse.

He was lousy at magic, or at least he knew he was going to be. That bouncing incident with great-uncle Algie was pretty much the only show of _anything_ he had ever made, and it was none too impressive, at that. When he was younger, he was petrified at the thought of perhaps being a Squib. Now he wished he still thought he was.

After all, he was the world-famous Boy Who Survived. He had an awful lot to live up to.

And now that he was officially a student at Hogwarts, his skill in magic, or lack of it, would be there for everyone to see.

He wished he was a Squib.

Feeling decidedly awful, and wanting to feel better (moping wasn't going to do any help, he reasoned), he got off the floor and fetched Trevor.

Trevor had been a gift from great-uncle Algie, after the bouncing incident. If anything nice at all had resulted from that awful day, it was Trevor.

The toad sat contentedly in his hands, pulsing slightly as he breathed.

"You'll never _believe_ what happened just now," Neville said sourly, sitting against the door again, toad in hand.

Trevor tilted his head slightly. He was an excellent listener, and Neville appreciated that greatly.

-///-

Sunday came far too quickly for Neville's comfort, and he nervously clung to his grandmother's thin arm as they walked down Diagon Alley. A few people stared as they went past, and Augusta sighed, continuing to walk briskly.

"You'd think that after ten years they'd learn to leave us alone," she clucked. "Honestly."

Neville said nothing, wishing he was back at home with Trevor. He _hated_ public outings. They made him feel like an animal in the zoo, or a dried specimen put on display in a museum.

"It's off to Malkin's with us first," Augusta continued. "I'll be getting your books at Flourish and Blotts while you're fitted."

"Okay," Neville said. It was best not to say much, when it came to his grandmother. They entered the shop.

"Morning, Josie," Augusta said. Madame Malkin, who was fitting a slightly-built blond boy, beamed at them.

"Augusta Longbottom, what a treat to see you!" she said. "How time flies! Is that little Neville I see?"

Neville stared at his shoes. "Good morning, Madame Malkin," he said.

The boy being fitted tried to look down, as his chin was being held up as Madame Malkin worked on his collar. He found himself restrained by a tape measurer and a pincushion, which pushed his head back into place.

"Have him fitted while I'm out," Augusta said. "I'll be back shortly."

She left, leaving Neville feeling strangely exposed. Although Madam Malkin was a familiar face (she came by for tea at least once every month), he still felt uncomfortable as she ushered him to a stool next to the blond boy.

"Arms out, Neville dear," she said, as a set of tape measures began to do work alongside her.

The blond boy craned his neck to peer at Neville, who kept his eyes firmly fixed to the floor. He must have been unsatisfied with what he saw, for he spoke.

"Are you _really_ Neville Longbottom? The Boy Who Survived?"

Neville sighed. Of course he was, he thought, even if he didn't really look like somebody that could survive and _defeat_ a dark wizard. As a baby, no less. All he said, however, was, "Yes, I am."

"Sure don't look like much," the boy continued. Neville sighed again, and this time looked to see who exactly was talking to him.

He was pale, _very_ pale, and rather handsome for his age; his hair was smoothed into place, and he gave off the overwhelming feeling of being very well-off. "Sorry I don't meet up with your expectations," Neville said.

The boy, for a moment, looked somewhat surprised. "What's with the humility?" he said.

"…what?" said Neville.

"You know, I expected you to be more… I don't know, boastful of this _title_ of yours," the boy continued. "I mean, defeating You-Know-Who and all. That ought to give you lifetime bragging rights or something."

"I don't remember it actually happening," Neville replied. "I don't know what I did. So, there's not much to brag about, I guess." He returned to looking at his shoes.

"Whatever," the boy replied.

"Arms down, dear," said Madame Malkin.

There was a good silence, save for the sound of tapes retracting and lengthening.

"Anyways, Neville," the boy said suddenly, "I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. It's, um, a bit of an honor to meet you."

Neville looked Draco straight in the eyes. "I've heard your name before," he said. "Your dad was one of the—"

"Shh! Not anymore!" Draco interrupted, and his gaze shifted sideways. "He's off in Azkaban, you know. It's really awful. I miss him a lot." His voice dropped. "Wish he'd never been one of _them_; it just wasn't _worth_ it."

"Oh," was all Neville said. That was where he had heard the name Malfoy from, wasn't it? In the _Daily Prophet_, whenever there was a new arrest of a Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy's name usually was attached somehow. Him, and the Lestranges. They were downright notorious, it seemed.

"Yeah, anyways," Draco said quickly, "you're going to Hogwarts too, right?" He gave a rather false smile, in an attempt to override the previous topic.

"Yeah, I am," Neville said, finally taking his eyes off Draco (was that a sigh of relief?).

"Then maybe I'll see you 'round, there?" said Draco. "Maybe we'll be in the same House. You think so?"

"Well, which House?" asked Neville.

"Slytherin, of course," Draco said, with almost a hint of pride in his voice. "My whole family's been in it."

Neville's father and mother had both been in Gryffindor, but his grandmother had been a Ravenclaw. Neville had no idea where he belonged. So, all he said was, "Oh."

"Think you'll be in Slytherin, too?" said Draco, a very small, genuine smile on his face.

Neville shrugged. "Dunno, really," he said. "I don't know where exactly I'd be. I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor; I'm not smart enough for Ravenclaw; I'm not… talented enough for Slytherin. Guess I'm in Hufflepuff."

Draco frowned. "Oh, come _on_. I doubt you'd be in such a tasteless house as _Hufflepuff_," he said. "That's where they put all the borderline-Squibs and things."

Neville turned slightly pink, but Draco didn't seem to notice. He continued: "I mean, you're kind of… I don't know, a sort of hero. I'd say you'd make Gryffindor at _least_, but that House is just full of cocky gits that can't play decent Quidditch," he said. "At least, that's what my dad would say. You think he's right?"

Neville shrugged again. Draco sighed.

"Let's just hope you're in Slytherin," he said.

"Well… couldn't we still do things together, no matter which House we're in?" Neville said hesitantly—this boy seemed friendly enough (maybe a little cocky, but friendly), and he didn't want to ruin the opportunity to make a decent friend. There weren't necessarily a lot of children to play with, near where he lived.

"Well, yeah, but…" Draco said, and grimaced a little as he thought. "Well, you don't really want to have to go and deal with all those… talentless losers, do you? I mean, not really having a choice in it all…"

Neville shrugged once more. "I don't think it really matters how good at magic you are," he said softly. "If you're a good person, shouldn't that be enough?"

Draco gave him a strange face, when the tape measures around him disappeared.

"You're all done, dear," said Madame Malkin, her mouth full of pins. "Your mother should be about soon."

"Thanks," Draco said quickly, and stepped off the stool as Madame Malkin flicked her wand and sent the robe flying off of him. "That old lady you came in with going to pick you up, Neville?"

"Yeah," Neville replied. "She's my gran."

The door opened with a little tinkle of bells, and a lithe woman with pale hair and dark eyes entered. She looked somewhat like Draco; his mother, Neville supposed.

"Draco, darling," she called, and Draco ran quickly to her side.

"Mum, can we look a broomsticks now?" he said, and she nodded quickly, politely.

"Of course, dear," she said. "How long until his robes will be delivered?" she asked.

"Finished on Wednesday," Madame Malkin replied, with a rosy smile. "They'll be delivered to your estate, Narcissa."

"Thank you," Narcissa said quickly, much in the same way as her son. She suddenly seemed to notice Neville was standing in front of the shop owner. Draco noticed her noticing.

"Mum, this is _Neville Longbottom_," he said, excitement and pride in his smile. "He's going to Hogwarts, too."

"Is that so?" Narcissa said, as if only mildly interested. "Then you'll see him at school. Come along, dear."

"I'll see you later, Neville, okay?" Draco said, waving. "Hope you're in Slytherin!"

"Sure," Neville said, and would have waved back, were it not for the enormous amount of pins in his sleeve.

Draco and his mother left.

Augusta arrived shortly afterward, a neat little case of schoolbooks hovering behind her on account of a useful charm. Neville's adjustments were finished.

"All done, dear," Madame Malkin said. "They'll be at your house by Wednesday." She flicked her wand, and sent the robe flying off Neville's back. He stepped off the stool.

"I know, I know," Augusta said matter-of-factly. "It's time for you to get your wand, Neville. Say goodbye."

"Thank you, Madame Malkin," Neville said, and they left. "Gran, I met a boy in the shop. He seemed pretty friendly."

"Is that so?" Augusta replied. Her tone reminded him of Draco's mother.

"Yeah. Draco Malfoy. He… I dunno, just talked to me like I was just another kid," Neville replied. "It was really nice."

Augusta clicked her tongue. "Those Malfoys…" she said. "Those people were Death Eaters. I bet they still are, even with that monster Lucius in Azkaban."

"He seemed kinda embarrassed about that," Neville said; was he feeling defensive? "Draco, I mean. Said he wished his dad wasn't one of them."

"Oh, I'm _sure_ he is," said Augusta. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I always say. You'd best watch out with that one, Neville."

Neville didn't reply. They walked in silence for a while, before he asked, "Gran, what House do you suppose I'll be in?"

Augusta's mouth was a thin, set line. "That'll be up for the Sorting Hat to decide," she replied curtly.

It didn't answer Neville's question, but he figured it was safer not to say anything more.

They were approaching Ollivander's.

Neville had seen the shop before, but ventured inside with his grandmother only once every two years or so, when she went to have her wand professionally polished. She was meticulous about keeping the thing clean, polishing it with a cloth once every morning. One of Neville's earliest memories was of her rubbing it with a lace handkerchief at the breakfast table.

Neville had no real desire to enter the building anytime soon. What lay within was rather dark, dusty, and the source of his future wand. He didn't necessarily want any of that.

Regardless, he entered with his grandmother.

"Ah come in, come in, I was just putting away some of the newer ones," a thin, silvery voice from somewhere in the shop said. With a flash of small, round glasses, Ollivander himself appeared from the shadows, brushing the dust off his trousers. Neville knew his face well, and wasn't startled by his entrance. "Hello there, Neville."

"Hello, Mister Ollivander," Neville replied.

"He's in for his wand," Augusta said, her bony fingers on Neville's shoulder. She sounded almost proud—not surprising, Neville thought.

"Yes, yes; I know, I know," Ollivander said, smiling. "Wand arm out, my boy."

More measurements, thought Neville, and obliged. A silver tape measure began doing its work, hovering in the air about him.

"It's been a while since your last visit, Augusta," said Ollivander, his eyes already skimming the shelves of boxes that made up most of the shop. "Would you like it polished again?"

"No, thank you," August replied, fingering her handbag. Of course, it held her wand.

"Ah, a shame," said Ollivander. "Oak and unicorn hair, ten inches exactly. A practical wand. No doubt you're still keeping good care of it on your own?"

Augusta nodded, with a slight "Hmph!" The tape measurer disappeared, and Ollivander nodded to himself. He began looking for wands. Neville sighed; so it began.

"Try this one, my boy," the wandmaker said, handing one to Neville. "Rowan and dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches. Stiff. Just wave it around a bit."

Neville grasped it lightly, and found it quickly snatched away. "No, that won't do… How about this?" Ollivander said, handing him another. "Aspen and unicorn hair, twelve inches. Rather dry."

The wand was held and just as quickly removed, to be replaced by another, and another.

"Not to worry, my lad, not to worry," Ollivander said, swapping another set of wands. "It's the wand that chooses the wizard, after all. We can't rightly control these things."

But time wore on, and Ollivander was beginning to run out of wands. Neville somewhat hoped that his wand wasn't in the shop, or even in existence—would that keep him from going to Hogwarts? He certainly hoped it might.

"This one; holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple," he said, hastily shoving the wand at Neville as he filed through other boxes with his free hand. Augusta had given up standing in wait, and was wiggling her foot impatiently in her chair.

The wand lay dead in his hand, just like the others. Ollivander quickly took it, and replaced it with yet another: "Ash and unicorn hair, twelve and a quarter inches. Pliant. Go on, give it a try."

Neville held it, and a curious warmth flooded his fingertips; marvelous green and magenta sparks shot out of its tip. Augusta stood in shock.

"Marvelous! Marvelous! Well done, my boy!" Ollivander said, dancing about the discarded wands and clapping his hands. "Oh, what an excellent match! I'm rather fond of that wand, myself. I was only… why, I was only _your_ age, when my_ father_ made it…"

"Ahem?" Augusta said, as politely as possible. She was beaming. "Shall we discuss price?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Ollivander, stepping over the various wands and making his way to the dusty old till.

Neville just stood there, staring at the lovely, silver-gray thing in his hand. It seemed almost too beautiful to belong to him, the way it gleamed slightly in what little light the shop had. It seemed like the wand of a princess, more like, or someone far more elegant than he.

But it really _was_ his wand. The warmth in his fingers, the slight swelling of happiness in his chest; was that hoe it felt to own a wand?

His fears of Hogwarts had melted away, and did not return until well after he had gotten home. Several days, in fact.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, not being a Squib.


	3. Farewells From the Platform

"I can't bloody believe," Augusta clucked, as she made her way with Neville through King's Cross Station, "that they have the school train way out in the middle of where all the bloody Muggles are! It completely defies all logic."

Neville said nothing, morosely pushing the baggage trolley with his trunk on it. The initial excitement over getting his wand had long since faded, although he still would feel just the slightest bit happier when he held it with his fingers and reminded himself that it was _his_ wand. His, and his alone.

It didn't override the fact that he was heading to school for real,s this time, however. Hence, his face was black.

"I do have to give them credit," Augusta continued, "for putting the platform somewhat in the back. Don't want to attract attention from _those_ folk, after all."

"Sure, Gran," Neville said, maneuvering the trolley down towards the further platforms. The looming signs of Platforms 9 and 10 appeared, and Augusta stopped Neville before the wall.

"Go on, just walk into it all easy-like," she told him. "Don't want to attract any attention. I'll come in right after you."

"Yes, Gran," Neville said, and after looking left and right to make sure he was being inconspicuous enough for his grandmother's liking, began to walk towards the wall.

Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters unfolded itself to him, with the Hogwarts Express, gleaming in scarlet, immediately as he came in.

He didn't have much time to enjoy the splendor, however, as his grandmother appeared behind him right afterward, squeezing his shoulder. "Let's get you on the train, Neville," she said.

"Right, Gran," he said softly. Augusta gave him a stern glance, and maneuvered him out of the way. Neville gave a quiet, secret little groan. He was going to get a Talking-To.

"Neville Longbottom, I shall have none of this moping about," she said, once she felt they were secluded enough. "It's your first day of school, and you should be excited."

"I know, Gran," he said softly. "I'm just… nervous."

"I know full well that you're nervous, Neville," she clucked. "Everyone's got a few butterflies in their stomach on their first day. I remember your _father_ was a nervous wreck on his first day." Neville's expression didn't lighten. "Neville!" she snapped, and he looked up at her. "I told you, no moping about!"

"Gran, I don't want to go to school," he said. "I told you before." He had told her at least ten times in the past week.

"None of this!" Augusta said, looking borderline furious. Neville winced. "Neville Franklin Longbottom, you are going to attend Hogwarts if it's the last thing I do. I do not want to have this talk with you again!" She stood, glaring at him for a very long-seeming moment. "Please, Neville do it… for your parents." Her face went from angry, to very sad. "They'd be so proud of you, Neville, coming so far."

Neville said nothing. Would his parents really be proud of him? He was going to be awful at magic, he just knew it. But would they have been okay with that?

"Neville, dry your eyes!" Augusta said, snapping, but her voice cracked a little. "We have to get on the train."

"Yes, Gran," Neville said. He wiped the tears that had uncontrollably fallen out of his eyes off with his sleeve.

"Send me a letter using one of the school owls as soon as you get there, now," she said, leading him towards the engine and boxcars. "I'll want to make sure they're treating you well."

"_Yes_, Gran," Neville said again. "Can I get on the train now?"

"Of course you can," Augusta said primly, and gave him a dry peck on the forehead. It left a rather faded mauve lip-print there. "Be _careful_ out there. And stay away from _questionable_ boys."

"Yes, Gran," Neville said, and dragging his trunk along behind him, boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Almost immediately, he was set with the challenge of finding a seat.

Would it look weird to sit alone? Or should he try to find someone he knew? Well, Draco was the only boy he really knew, that was going to the school, and he had a feeling that his grandmother thought him "questionable." And it would be absolutely awkward having to sit with a complete stranger, especially someone that would ask about his scar. Neville didn't like talking much about his scar.

"Hey! Neville! Neville, over here! You hear me, Neville?"

Draco's voice came floating from a small compartment further up, and it wasn't long before the narrow-faced boy appeared, grinning. "Oy! Good to see you, you wanna sit with me?"

Well, what his grandmother didn't know wouldn't hurt her, Neville reasoned, and said, "Sure. Thanks, Draco. It's nice to see you again."

"No problem! Glad I could find you! I have some friends of mine I want you to meet," Draco said, leaning out of the compartment. "Uh, you need help with that trunk of yours?"

"Yeah, thanks," said Neville, as Draco took one end and helped drag it into the compartment, stowing it beneath the seat. 

"You can sit with _me_," Draco said, an eager enthusiasm in his voice that Neville had only heard in small amounts during their previous encounter. "Do you... want the window?"

He looked like he was trying really hard to be nice, so Neville said that he would, and took his seat. "You're sitting next to me, by the way," Draco repeated, and ushered with his hand towards two boys across from them, with faces that looked like they were made sculpted out of hardened dough. "This is Crabbe, and that's Goyle, by the way. This is _Neville Lon-_"

"We know who he is, Malfoy," the one called Goyle said. "You wouldn't shut up about it on the platform!"

Draco turned a very pale shade of pink, and glanced at Neville to see if he was getting uncomfortable. Neville was just the slightest bit embarrassed, but didn't show it. Draco continued. "Yeah? Well, this is the real thing! What do you think, Crabbe?"

"It's all right," the other boy said. He looked just the slightest bit thinner than Goyle, but it wasn't that much of a difference.

"Crabbe, and Goyle?" Neville said, looking at each of them in turn. "Are those your surnames?"

"Yeah?" Goyle said.

Of course they were their surnames. They were also the surnames of notorious Death Eaters. "What's your given name?" Neville said. "I remember those better."

"Gregory," said Goyle. "And this lump here is Vincent."

"Hey," Crabbe, now Vincent, said, as Goyle nudged him slightly.

"Vincent and Gregory. Okay, I can remember that," Neville said, and smiled slightly.

"Did the rest of your holidays go well, Neville?" Draco asked, slapping his hands on his knees and smiling. 

"They were all right, I guess," Neville replied. "I didn't do much."

"Really? Mum took me to the Russian Circus when they came by," Draco replied. "The had Bear Animagi, it was really quite something. I've seen better, though."

"I've never been to the circus," Neville said thoughtfully.

"Circuses are dumb," Gregory added. "You just can't beat Quidditch. That's the best."

"Yeah! Quidditch beats out the circus, any time," Draco agreed. "What do you think, Neville?"

Neville shrugged. "My gran doesn't let me play," he said.

"Your gran?" said Gregory. "Sounds like a fussy old cow to me."

Neville frowned at Gregory, who, for a brief moment, grimaced. Draco nervously waved his hands at Neville, as if that would placate him. "Well, there are flying lessons at the school, I think!" he said. "You ever flown?"

"No," Neville said, losing the glare, but still giving Gregory a rather cross look. "I don't think I'll be very good at it, anyways. I'm right clumsy."

"It's okay, I don't much like flying either," Vincent said, causing Gregory to nudge him again, rather strongly. "Ow!"

"Pansy," Gregory said. "I hope I make beater this year."

"You can't get on the team in your first year..." Vincent noted, rubbing his bumped arm.

"Stupid rule!" Draco said, pouting. "I bet I could beat out whatever stupid git they have as Seeker, now." And that was all that was said for a good long while.

The train began to move, and Neville shrunk against the window, thankful he wasn't sitting on the side of the train that his grandmother was standing at. He didn't want to risk getting a Howler or something, just because he sat with Draco. He and Vincent and Gregory didn't get up to wave at their parents, either, so they just sat in silence as students said goodbye to their parents through the windows.

"So," Gregory said after a long while, "do you remember what You-Know-Who looked like, at all?"

"Goyle, are you stupid or something?" Malfoy snapped, before Neville could say anything. "You were only a baby, weren't you?" he asked.

"I don't rightly remember much from that time," Neville said, his voice soft. Well, they could be asking worse questions, he figured.

"Really? What, you don't remember, like... the curse or anything?" Gregory continued. "Cos my older brother hexed me when I was, like, three, and I remember that really well."

Neville gave him a darkly confused look. "No, not really," he replied. Though, he did suppose that sometimes he dreamed about that night—screams, and green flashes that would cause him to wake up in bed, fitfully turning about.

"That's weird," Gregory decided, and looked out the window himself.

"You miss your folks lots, Neville?" Vincent asked unexpectedly.

Neville shrugged. "I guess I do, though I don't really remember them," he said. "I wish I did."

"I guess you're lucky, then," said Vincent. "You-Know-Who took away my parents too, and I _really_ miss them."

Neville nearly gasped. "Y'mean he killed them?" he asked.

"No," Gregory said, nudging Vincent strongly again. "It means they got locked up in Azkaban like my dad and Malfoy's! All 'cos of him, 'swhat Crabbe thinks." He nudged Vincent again. "You need to stop being a pansy."

"I am _not_ a pansy," Vincent replied, frowning, holding his arm once more. "I am not."

"I hate my dad," Gregory continued, looking almost thoughtfully out the window again, with an expression of brutish intellect (if such a thing existed). "He was stupid enough to get caught."

Neville gulped, but it was Draco's response that made him feel a little better. "That's because your dad's an absolute idiot," he said dryly.

"Is not!" Gregory said, and he and Draco glared at each other for a bit, before forgetting the matter entirely. It was the kind of relationship Neville guessed would exist between brothers, always fighting and disagreeing, but sticking together anyways. It was how he was with his grandmother, in a way.

"Do you have a pet, Neville?" Vincent asked, and Neville nodded. "Oh, what kind?" Neville smiled just a little. He had a feeling he'd like Vincent a bit.

"You want to see him?" Neville said, and Vincent nodded. Draco craned his neck in interest as Neville reached down to get his trunk, and in it, the glass cage that Trevor was kept in.

Mortifyingly, Trevor was nowhere to be found. Neville couldn't have been more scared.

"Oh no!!" he cried.

"What's the matter?" said Draco. "Did you lose something?"

"I lost Trevor!" said Neville. "Did you see him?"

"See what?" said Gregory, finally becoming interested as Neville nervously rooted through his trunk for any sign of the toad.

"See Trevor!" Neville replied, frantically. "Have you seen him?"

"What's Trevor?" said Draco.

"My toad!" Neville said urgently.

Gregory began to laugh, and even Draco submitted to a burst of chuckles.

"You? Have a _toad_?" he said, and began laughing. "Oh, tell me you're joking! You're joking, right?"

Neville glared at him again. "I am not!"

"Why don't you want an owl?" Draco asked. "Owls are so much better."

"Trevor was a present," Neville said glumly, closing the trunk. "And we can only bring one, right?"

"Yeah, but," Gregory said, between laughs, "seriously! A toad!"

Vincent stayed silent, though he looked just the slightly bit regretful. Neville wished that he would just stand up and help him look for Trevor, but nothing of the sort happened.

Neville stood. "Where are you going?" Draco said.

"I'm going to go find Trevor," Neville said, resolutely, and stomped out of the compartment. He left his trunk behind him.

-///-

A good half hour of searching, as well as a good hour of avoiding questions from curious bystanders, and still no Trevor. Neville was practically heartbroken—what if something had happened to him? Had he been eaten by somebody else's cat, or owl? Or was he cowering, scared, beneath a seat?

He leaned against the compartment bathroom door, and sighed. What was he going to do? It didn't help that Gregory and Draco were laughing at him, while Vincent just... had sat there. Was he better off without his toad, considering them?

No! Trevor was too precious! He was a present from Uncle Algie! Neville had to find him. But nothing was happening.

The door to the bathroom opened, and a girl that gave him the distinct impression of a rather fussy squirrel exited. She glanced at Neville as she left, and then gave him a grand double-take on her way down the hall, eventually coming back to him.

"Excuse me, are you... Neville Longbottom?" she asked.

"Yes," Neville said, tiredly, "I am."

"Well! This is... I read all about you in _A History of Magic!_ Of course, you weren't mentioned for very much, I mean, the book only goes up until the late 80's..." Her eyes wandered to the floor as she spoke, faster and faster, before she unexpectedly offered him her hand. "My name's Hermione Granger, by the way. It's really so very great to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Hermione," Neville said, loosely shaking her hand, before putting both hands in his pockets.

"Gosh, aren't you just so excited about school?" Hermione twittered. "I know I am. My parents are Muggles, you see, so I don't know much of anything! It's a whole new experience!"

"Really?" Neville said, his voice barely showing a hint of interest.

"Yes!" Hermione replied. "Do you know which house you'll be sorted in? I'm going to guess I'm in Ravenclaw, of course, but Gryffindor might be nice too... Oh, whatever is the matter?" She finally seemed to notice, through her talking, that Neville was wearing a very dour face.

"I lost my toad," he replied. 

"You did? Oh, how awful!" said Hermione. "Do you want me to help you find it?"

Neville's face broke into a tired smile. "Oh, _would_ you? Thanks," he said. "I've been looking all over the train, and not finding anything..."

"Well, I'd guess that there's about another hour left to go," Hermione said. "I went up to talk to the conductor, you see, and that's what he said. So I think we'll have enough time to look some more."

"Thanks," said Neville, smiling wider. "I was looking mostly towards that side of the train," He pointed to the front, "so we could look near the back, maybe?"

"Sure, that sounds good," said Hermione, and opened the sliding door to the next car. "Oh, this is so exciting, Neville! You... don't mind if I call you Neville, do I?"

"No," Neville said, with a bit of a laugh, "I don't, really."

With the addition of Hermione, however, the search was no more fruitful, but it went a bit faster. She went to each compartment and asked if a toad had been seen, allowing Neville to stand inconspicuously in the aisle and not be bothered by questions of his scar and You-Know-Who, and other things he wasn't in the mood to discuss.

There had been a bit of trouble when the woman pushing the snack trolley came by, but they managed to get past and learn that she had not seen a toad, but had a whole lot of Chocolate Frogs. Neville bought one—he was feeling rather hungry, after all, and idly looked at the card while Hermione inquired within another compartment.

Bridget of Ireland, huh? The woman dressed in a rather simple nun's habit smiled back at him, a flickering candle in her hands. He didn't have her yet. He did enjoy (somewhat) collecting Chocolate Frog cards. His grandmother never did let him buy that many sweets, however. So, his collection wasn't all that impressive. But, he knew he had an Agrippa, though, and that accounted for something.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" Hermione asked the inhabitants of this newest compartment. "My friend's lost his."

"Haven't seen a toad anywhere around here," a boy's voice said from within. "Whose toad?"

"That's none of your business," Hermione said primly. "Have you seen a toad or not?"

"I told you, we haven't seen a toad," another voice, still a boy's, said. "Who owns a toad anymore, anyways?"

"Obviously, my friend," Hermione said, somewhat ruffled. Neville could practically see her bushy hair bristling with annoyance—most people (mainly the older students) were rather helpful and polite in saying they had not seen a toad.

"Who's your friend?" the first voice said.

"That is none of your business!" Hermione said, and very nearly closed the compartment door, when Neville stepped forward to take a look inside.

Two boys sat within; one with black hair and glasses, and bottle-green eyes; the other had hair the color of a carrot, and freckles dotting his face like a ripe banana. The carrot-haired boy gasped almost immediately. 

"Y-y-y-y-you're Neville Longbottom!" he stammered. "It's _your_ toad?!"

"Yes, it's my toad," Neville said, just the slightest note of defensiveness in his voice, although it was mostly exasperation. "Neither of you have seen it?"

"No! No, we haven't seen it," the carrot-haired boy replied nervously. He seemed to be more excited than Hermione, on their initial meeting. "Oh! Do you need help in finding it?"

"I'm already helping him!" Hermione snapped back. "We don't need any help from you. Neville, shall we leave?"

He was about to nod, and follow Hermione to the next compartment, when the bespectacled boy said, "Hold on a tic. I think that my parents know you."

Neville tilted his head confusedly, looking at the boy. He didn't seem to recognize him. "I don't know you..." he said.

"Well, of course! My parents knew your parents," the boy said. "I'm Harry Potter, my parents are Aurors! And your parents were named... Alice and Frank, right?"

Neville found himself smiling. "Yes, that's their names!" he said. "How come I've never met you?"

"Must be because of your gran, or something," Harry said. "My dad says she's too protective of you, or something. Is she really awful?"

"Well, I don't know.." said Neville, somewhat meekly. "I don't get out much."

The carrot-haired boy's mouth was dangling wide open, and Harry noticed, laughing. "Ron, you keep your mouth open much longer and a fly's going to go in there," he said.

"Your parents _knew_ his?!" the boy, whose name was Ron, said incredulously. "That's so... cool! Hey, hey Neville? Can I ask you something?"

"Huh?" said Neville.

"Can I see your scar, real quick?" Ron said. Neville sighed. Well, it wasn't like he was asking questions about the curse and You-Know-Who, like Goyle was.

"Okay," he said, and pushed up the hair on his bangs to show Ron the V-shaped scar. Ron's mouth dropped open once more, and Hermione sighed. 

"Wicked..." he said.

"Oh, grow _up_, will you," Hermione sighed.

"Hey, Neville, I've got a question too," Harry said. "What're you doing, hanging out with squirrels? Fancy yourself Snow White, or something?"

Hermione's face turned bright red, and she kept her mouth tightly shut. Her front teeth _were_ just the slightest bit large...

"Excuse me?" Neville said, letting his bangs fall. Harry and Ron began to laugh, while Hermione spoke, through gritted teeth.

"Neville, they obviously haven't seen your toad."

"I still don't get why you have a toad!" Ron said.

"Yeah, why not an owl?" Harry added. "Aren't toads kind of stupid?"

Neville gave a bit of a hurt look. "No, they're not..." he said.

"Come_ on_, Neville," Hermione urged, tugging on his arm and sending him scooting to his left on one foot. "Your toad isn't here."

"All right, then," Neville said.

"Hey, Neville! I'll see you later!" Harry said, waving at them as Hermione dragged him away. All Neville could muster was a brief wave.

He heard Ron say, as they left the car, "Blimey, Harry, Neville Longbottom's at our school! Neville Longbottom! That's like having... having one of the Chudley Cannons as Head Boy!"

"Those idiots, honestly," Hermione clucked, the door closing behind her. "I just _know _they're going to be getting into just _heaps_ of trouble."

"They seemed okay," Neville said. Compared to Gregory, that is.

"You boys honestly have no sense of judgment," said Hermione, and leaned into yet another compartment.


End file.
